Of Roses and Clouds
by Sweet Valentine
Summary: Gently prying the other ring off her hand, she tosses it over the balcony, watching it shimmer on its way down, twinkling out of sight. She looks to the sky, and watches for clouds. Balthier/Ashe COMPLETE
1. What's in a NickName?

**AN: I had written _I Am a Rose_, and while writing it, I saw that I couldn't fit in more interaction between Balthier and Ashe without bogging down the original point of that one-shot (which was more in the end – it covered a long period of time). So, this takes place DURING _I Am a Rose_, after Balthier's and Ashe's original conversation about Al-Cid. It takes place before Phon Coast. I had to add this because it fits nicely, gives them more interaction, and was bugging me. My creative juices are really stirring today. So, yeah, this goes hand-in-hand with _I Am a Rose_. **

**Oh, and I do not own FF12. **

_**What's in a (Nick)Name?**_

He'd called her a rose, and then promptly walked away. Later, she had asked him why. And he looked at her with that unbearable grin of his and walked away. Again. Ashe realized how he had managed to infuriate his bounty hunters so. All he ever did was slip out of one's grasp.

The party had managed to claw their way out of the Golmore Jungle and made their way to the cooler and gentler Ozmone Plain. They used the change of setting to rest up and refresh themselves, and Ashe took the opportunity to ponder the sky pirate's word. She had taken a big step in relating to him the discomfort of Al-Cid's affections for her. She realized, in retrospect, that while she had never actually taken the time to really _know_ Balthier, he was the only one she could have told her anxiety to – after all, Vaan and Penelo were children, and could not possibly understand the apprehension of courtship, and Fran was, well, Fran. Basch maybe would have understood her uneasiness, but his knightly station would have prevented him of relying counsel in regards to the princess' courtship – she scoffed at the thought – to Al-Cid.

Balthier, however, shared her dislike for Al-Cid. Perhaps dislike was too strong a word, for Ashe had only just met the man. Yet there was something about his forwardness the put Ashe off. She walked the lush earth of the plains, and thought idly, _I shall have to inquire as to why Balthier has such distaste for Al-Cid._ Of course, she figured, he would evade her question, just as he had when she asked him about the rose. He enjoyed being shrouded by mystery, it seemed, for he never offered any information about himself to his comrades.

"Your thoughts are pensive today, Princess," a familiar drawl came from behind her. She started at his sudden appearance, cursing herself for being so unaware, and also cursing him for his ability to always show up when she was off her guard.

"I've many thoughts to dwell on today, pir – Balthier," she corrected, remembering his jest of her never using his name. "Many thoughts, and none of which are pleasant."

He frowned at this. "Now, that will not do. Our princess must be happy. For a happy princess makes a happy party," he grinned, though she was pleased to say it was sincere. She shook her head.

"So much death," she whispered, mostly to herself. Indeed, the past several days had not been pleasant at all, with the murder of the Grand Kiltias and all those refugees… Ashe shuddered, and then felt slightly guilty for pitying her own "problems" of courtship. How dare she, when so many had lost so much?

Balthier noticed her discomfort, and drew closer to her, gently placing a hand on her bare shoulder. The warmth felt nice and she turned her head to gaze at him solemnly. "Do not dwell on that, Princess," his voice soft. She nodded, and content that he had quelled those particular thoughts, continued to say, "And forget Al-Cid Margrace."

She looked away, wondering if she was really that transparent. A whole flood of thoughts clouded her brain, and she knew that she had to ask. "Balthier?" he turned his head to her, giving her his full attention. "Why am I a rose?"

His lips curled gently upward, and instead of answering her, he raised his head to the sky. "Balthier." She continued, sharper than before, intent on receiving her answer, but he continued to smile and stare up at the sky.

"We should head back to the others, Princess." He turned to walk away, letting his hand slide agonizingly slow down her shoulder, sending off a delightful sensation. She turned to him and huffed, before calling out after him the only thing she could think of.

"If I am a rose, then you are a cloud!" He stopped and half-turned back, his head cocked at an angle, and he looked at her curiously. She breathed, collecting her thoughts, before she continued. "You are a cloud. All fluff and no substance. You shift your shape at every angle. You are never constant – just a vapor floating along in the sky." He turned to her fully at that point, and smiled widely.

"Oh, really? A cloud, hmm? Well, I congratulate you, Princess. That nickname is quite appropriate." He paused, considering his next words carefully with a smirk on his face. "Then again, most nicknames are. Now, let's be off, shall we, _rose_?"

She cursed that damn pirate under her breath as she stomped after him back to camp.

**AN: So, I had a whole bunch of little ideas for these one-shots directly after posting my original story, and because I like _I Am a Rose_ as a stand alone so much, I decided I was not going to add on to the story, but rather post my little drabbles as accompanying pieces, that can or cannot stand alone. So, in this "story" (which is really a collection of one-shots that happen to accompany IAAM) I'm going more in-depth than I originally went with my first story. So, you can expect more drabbles to be posted in this story.**

**Reviews are enjoyed and appreciated!**


	2. A Princess' Allure

**AN: Another chapter! In one night! I must really love you all!**

**I don't own anything. Not even clothes. That is correct, I'm typing this in the nude.**

_**A Princess' Allure**_

Ashe had never been to the Mosphoran Highwaste before now, and as she walked the mucky path and breathed the stale, sour air, she realized exactly why it was she had not. The atmosphere was thick and cloudy, nearly choking Ashe as she labored to force her constricted lungs to breathe the rotten air. The party had stopped briefly at the small enclave in the middle of the path. Fran and Penelo went to speak with some of the residents, attempting to haggle with them in an effort to purchase more sundries (for the party's were beginning to wane). Basch had taken Vaan to examine some of the old fountains, or whatever they were. Ashe found it endearing that the older man took joy in relating bits of knowledge or history to the younger, flaxen-haired boy.

Ashe herself had wandered absently, examining the wild-life about her. She did not find the moss or exotic flowers particularly appealing, but it was better than doing nothing. She trekked along the path set before her, trudging along the damp landscape along a sloping hill that looked over the small enclave. Somewhat wearily, she knelt down on the lush earth, and dug her hands into the ground, feeling the moisture of the dewy grass in her fingers. She inhaled deeply, doing her best not to suffocate on the stale air, and breathed the tension from out of her being. Her body sagged and relaxed, and she allowed her neck to fall lithely and hang before her.

Ashe heard a rustling of grass and footsteps from behind her, but she did not open her eyes. Instead, she tried to ignore the sounds, and focused on relaxing – blocking everything out. She heard a noise coming from her right, and irritated, she opened her eyes to look in the direction of the offending clamor. She bumped noses with a very amused sky pirate.

In an instant, Ashe sat straight up and turned her head forward, cheeks reddening and eyebrows furrowed in anger. "Excuse me!"

"You're excused, Your Majesty," he blithely pardoned her, smirking at her rather flustered behavior.

Standing up, she rounded on him. "How dare you, pirate! Why is it you feel the need to invade my personal space every chance you get!? Is there something that draws me to you, like a moth to the flame? Something that is so alluring to a pirate?" She sputtered angrily.

"Well, actually, yes," he grinned up at her, "there is something that draws me to you."

"Oh, really?" She huffed. "What, pray tell, is it then?"

"Your skirt."

Ashe blinked. Several times. Had she heard that correctly? Did he actually have the audacity, the nerve - !

"I beg your pardon?" Ashe queried, words shaking with rage, trying her very best to keep her composure.

"Well, Princess, your skirt - ,"

"_What about my skirt!?"_ Her hands fisted into balls, knuckles turning white, and she shook visibly with fury.

He rolled his eyes, and stood up, shaking the dirt off of his pants. "I was simply explaining to Your Majesty what it is I find so… _interesting,_" his mouth curled upward around the word. "It is your skirt."

"I should stab you with my sword, you vulgar, lewd - ," he held up his hands in a sign of surrender.

"Do you know why I find it so 'alluring'," he mockingly purred.

"Don't interrupt me!"

"It is the _color_ of the skirt." Ashe stop, confused. She looked down at the skirt, a bright hue of cherry-pink, and looked up at him, mouth slightly open. She had expected a number of jests about the skirt's length, but its color?

"Yes, the color. It is a marvelous color. A perfect hue. It suits you well."

Ashe found her voice again. "Oh? And pray tell why that is?" She spat the words as venomously as she could. Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca would not succumb to this sky pirate's perversion without a fight.

"It's the color of a rose."

She gaped. He smiled, almost evilly, relishing in the sheer cleverness of his word play. He turned his back to her. The princess stood there, incensed at his – whatever it was, she could not describe. He enjoyed antagonizing her. _That _was the _only_ explanation. Refusing to answer her questions, teasing her ceaselessly, oh that vile man! Ashe regained her senses and began marching off, seething and burning red. "Leaving so soon, princess?" She stopped and turned to him, and in an act of pure desperation and aggravation, Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca took part in the most childish, undignified act of her life.

She threw a rock at his head.

She had spotted it on the ground, just sitting there, in an open invitation, and she did not think twice. Lunging down, she clasped the small stone in her hand, and she hurled it.

Of course, in her obvious rage, the rock missed its intended target, but only by very little. Balthier was quite surprised when the stone came whizzing by, just past his left ear and fell down the cliff below. Shocked, he turned around to see the princess stomping off, unable to decide action made her the angriest: his own behavior, or the fact that her one chance at revenge had been thwarted by her own poor aim.

"Now that was uncalled for!" He shouted after her, and he smirked at the loud noise of frustration she left in her wake. As she walked away, he could not help savor a long glance at her rose colored skirt.

**AN: You are all very special, giving me such kind reviews and getting me to post another chapter of this story IN ONE NIGHT! Thank you so much! I have to say, I enjoyed writing this. Ashe gets flustered very easily and I can actually see her throwing a temper tantrum. Oh well, I hope you all enjoy this. I really liked writing about the rock – for some reason, I think the sight of a rock whizzing by Balthier's perfect head from an extremely angry Ashe is hilarious. But that's just me.**


	3. Realization

**AN: Expect lots of goodies from me tonight. I'm horribly sick, and have far too much time on my hands. And, many, many plots have been running through my head all day. I've even thought of the ending of this story, though I don't anticipate that coming up for a while. Anyway, enjoy!**

**This takes place after the first two chapters, but I must warn you all, in the future some chapters MAY NOT be in chronological order. It's basically whatever I feel like at the time.**

**I don't own FFXII. If I did, BalxAshe would be (more) canon.**

_**Realization**_

Apparently, the congestion in Ashe's lungs was not due solely to the stale, bitter air of the Mosphoran Highwaste. In fact, what started as a slight respiratory problem had escalated to a full scale war on her entire well-being. Her muscles and bones ached, stiffness seeping over every inch, and her head swam so much she found it astonishing she actually was able to keep her balance. The trek through the Salikawood was by no means as difficult as the Highwaste (and Ashe blessed the Gods for the party's lack of fiendish encounters), yet with each step, Ashe found it more difficult to carry on. But she would not stop – they could not afford to waste more time. The fate of an impending war rested on _their_ shoulders. Ashe shuddered at the thought, though the extremity of the shudder seemed to come more from the fact she was developing chills due to fever.

Yet, somehow, she had managed to conceal her symptoms from the rest of the group – they had even avoided Balthier's attention, a feat she found shocking beyond belief due to his… _infatuation_ with her. _Not me,_ she thought dully. _My skirt. _She would not deny that she was still bitter about that encounter, for indeed it had been mortifyingly embarrassing, and she had conducted herself in a deplorable manner.

Shaking the horrible memory from her head, she looked to her party and had to wonder if anyone else was feeling – well, as miserable as she was. Ashe noticed a slightly weary Penelo to her right, and veered gently to speak with the girl in a hushed voice.

"Are you… having difficulty breathing?" Ashe questioned the younger girl carefully. Penelo looked at her, alarmed.

"No! But – are you?" Ashe shook her head quickly, not wanting to draw attention to herself. She did not wish to be the cause of more troubles. "Are you sure?" The flaxen-haired girl pressed, and Ashe gave a weak smile and returned to her rank, successfully killing the conversation before it traveled down a path she would rather not tread.

The party continued, mostly in silence, to the gate leading to Phon Coast. Upon arriving, they found that the passage was barred – the gate was broken, and the Moogles responsible for its repair were scattered somewhere in the wood. Ashe cursed under her breath. She did not have time for this!

Balthier spoke at that point. "Perhaps _we_ should find those errant Moogles, and bring them back here to repair the gate?" It was a reasonable idea, and he continued on. "The best way would be to split up. There are hardly any fiends here in the wood, and we could find them much faster." Ashe's eyes widened. _Split up?_ That only could mean one thing.

Sure enough, her eyes darted to Balthier, and the sky pirate started for her, that evil smirk plastered on his face. _He intends to use this opportunity to torture me even more, _Ashe groaned inwardly. Looking around, she realized she would need to find herself a more suitable partner, and _now_. Thankfully, the beautiful Viera stood to her left, and Ashe did not hesitate for a second.

"Fran," she said, regally. "Would you accompany me in the wood?" Fran looked a bit surprised, but offered a gentle nod of approval, and Ashe shot her head back triumphantly at Balthier, who looked stunned and indignant at Ashe's avoidance. Victorious, Ashe led Fran back into the Salikawood to find those wretched Moogles.

The task proved more difficult than Ashe had originally anticipated, for the winding twists of the wooden path led to no Moogles, and frustrated, she attempted to inhale deeply, forgetting her ailment. She winced visibly has her chest contracted, and Fran stepped forward, placing a hand on Ashe's shoulder.

"You are hurt?" It was almost a statement, but Ashe shook her head.

"I just feel a bit ill. It is nothing of concern, Fran. Thank you." The Viera looked at her sternly, and Ashe felt a bit uncomfortable under her gaze. She had never really understood Fran, and though she appreciated the Viera's company, she still felt so estranged from her.

"Something bothers you." Once again, Ashe attempted to shake off the Viera's concerns.

"Just a slight bit ill."

"It is more than just an illness that causes your discomfort." Ashe looked at Fran in wonderment. "What has he done to you?"

Ashe blinked. Fran's ability to discern distress was quite impressive. And naturally, Fran _would _know the culprit of Ashe's anxiety.

"It is nothing," Ashe said curtly. Fran's gaze did not move from Ashe's eyes, and she grew more uncomfortable and unwillingly honest under their spell. "He has made some improper comments, but I assure you, it is nothing I cannot handle." Though Ashe guiltily admitted that perhaps throwing a rock at Balthier's head was indeed_ not _the most mature way of handling herself, but she digressed.

Fran raised her eyebrows. "Improper comments? May I ask what exactly it is he said?"

Thinking on the offending statements, Ashe sheepishly realized that they were not all _that _inappropriate – but nonetheless, he had no business speaking to her in regards to her skirt!

"He said he liked the color of my skirt," and of course, as the words tumbled out of Ashe's mouth, she saw indeed just how foolish it was, and bit her lip and looked away from the Viera as her cheeks flushed slightly. In an attempt to redeem herself, Ashe reasoned, "But he should not speak to me in such a manner. Especially regarding my skirt! It is… most indecorous!"

Fran gave what Ashe assumed to be a small smile, though the smile lit up in Fran's eyes more than her mouth. "Indeed, quite indecorous." And Ashe could not help but pout at her own foolishness. But Fran continued, "Has it ever occurred to you _why_ he says such things?"

Ashe pondered for a moment, before saying, "I suppose it is for his own amusement. He seems to enjoy it much," she stated bitterly.

Fran shook her head. "He does it to make you forget." Ashe did not understand, and looked at the Viera for clarification. "You wear a heavy burden on your shoulders, Princess. Thoughts of death and grief and suffering… he does not like it when your thoughts are pensive. It troubles him." Ashe gaped at her. Balthier was _that_ concerned for her? "You do not take some pleasure in his banter?" Ashe thought about that. Naturally, sometimes the sky pirate infuriated her… but she could not deny she enjoyed besting him today, and choosing Fran as a partner over him. Indeed, Ashe could not deny that there _were_ times when she took satisfaction in setting him straight, in parrying his jest.

"He only does it to help you."

That warmed Ashe, and she smiled lightly at Fran's words. But she was curious, and asked, "But why is it he says some things that infuriate me so?"

Fran gave Ashe what she was sure was the brightest smile the Viera could muster (given her nature), and said, "I think he finds it comforting that you dwell on his infatuation with your skirt more than you do of Vayne."

Ashe's heart stopped at that. It was true. She was more concerned with Balthier than her own actual suffering (not that agonizing over her skirt was not suffering – but it was not to the same degree). And then she smiled a little, for the pirate's silly little plan had worked, and Ashe took consolation in the fact that he actually cared.

The pair continued in silence until they stumbled along a small bungalow of Moogles. Coincidentally, the pair of Balthier and Vaan had come across the adjoining Moogle-house, and now the four companions traveled back together. Along the way they encountered Basch and Penelo, who had also found their share of Moogles, and the party trudged back as a whole body once again.

When they arrived at the gate, they learned that it would not be repaired until the next day, and Basch decided to set up the tents and make camp. "When the gate is repaired, we shall be able to pack up and set off," he explained, and the party dispersed to prepare their site. Vaan went to assist Basch with the tents, while Fran and Penelo went back to look for some firewood. Ashe realized that these pairings left her to prepare dinner with Balthier, and for once, she did not mind his company, and she acted completely cordial to him while handing him rations from their sack.

This change in attitude did not escape Balthier, who commented. "Well, I'm glad Fran has finally talked some sense into you. That wounded me, Princess, you leaving with her, when you knew perfectly well that _I_ as interested in acting as your escort." She looked at him, slightly startled, but was relieved to see he was only teasing her. She smiled lightly at him, though she did not reply. Ashe continued unloading food when a sharp pain invaded her forehead, and she grimaced and clutched her hand to her head. He was there, next to her then, and concerned.

"What is it?" He asked in a low voice, not wanting to draw the attention of the Captain and Vaan.

"I am simply feeling a bit ill, 'tis all." She explained wearily, her chest feeling constricted again. Balthier brought a strong hand to the back of her neck, and she shivered slightly at its coolness on her burning skin. His hand trailed delicately to her cheek, and she delighted in the sensation. _These_, she huffed to herself, _are most improper thoughts_, Nonetheless, she relished in the feeling of his cool hand against her warm cheek, and unconsciously she leaned in to his touch. His hand traced upward to her forehead, and brought her even more relief.

"You're warm," he stated, plainly. "Quite warm." She nodded, enjoying the feel of his strong hand against her face. He place his other hand on her open cheek, and cupped her face in a cool grip. She leaned into him, breathing heavily, her eyes slowly shutting.

"Um, Balthier, what are you doing?" Ashe's eyes snapped open, and sheepishly, Balthier relinquished his hold. The pair turned to look at Vaan, who was eying them curiously. Past his shoulder was Basch, who glared at Balthier warily.

Clearing his throat, Balthier called out to the gruff man, "I believe our Princess has fallen ill. Better finish pitching those tents, and fast." Basch's look shifted from that of discomfort to concern for Ashe, and he quickly returned to his work, finishing piling the bundle of blankets in the tent behind him. Balthier then took hold of Ashe's hand and led her into the now completed tent. Wearily, Ashe stepped inside and removed her shoes, and dived into the blankets exhaustedly.

To her surprise, Balthier sat down next to her, smiling slightly. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"I did not wish to be a bother."

He snorted. "Nonsense. Your health is more important than anything else." They heard the sweet clamor of Penelo's youthful voice, and Balthier stepped outside of the tent briefly. Ashe snuggled deeper into the bedding, her body aching and sore. Balthier returned with a small bowl and a wash cloth. "Turn your head this way."

Ashe obliged, unsure of what his intentions were, and then he dipped the rag into the bowl and brought the soft cloth across her cheek. The rag was soaked in cool water, and Ashe's eyes closed contentedly at the relief. He continued his ministrations, wiping her face slowly. Ashe absently noted that she could feel his fingers through the cloth, and that she quite enjoyed the easy pattern they made across her cheek. It was almost a tickling sensation, quite pleasant, and it made her skin prickle beneath the warm sheets.

"Balthier," she said suddenly, not opening her eyes.

"Hm?" He continued to draw the wet cloth down her skin. She paused for a moment, almost unsure of how to proceed.

"Thank you."

She heard a faint chuckle, and when he moved the cloth down her neck she nearly gasped aloud at the sensation. His hand drew the rag almost tantalizingly slow across her collarbone, and the thought crossed her mind that maybe he was enjoying this _too much_, but Ashe did not care and simply welcomed the comfort.

"You're welcome, Princess."

"And I apologize." There was a beat. "About the rock."

He laughed at that. "That is unnecessary, Princess. It was well deserved, though the punishment was poorly executed." She smiled reluctantly at that, eyes still closed. Ashe blushed again as the cloth once again patted down her collarbone, almost dangerously close to her chest, but she continued anyway.

"I understand why it is you said what you did."

"Oh, do you know?" He sounded amused.

"Yes," she said quietly, yet sure of her answer. "And once again, I must thank you."

She could hear him shift, for he was leaning nearer to her now and she could feel his warm breath against her face. She blushed slightly when his lips brushed across her forehead, and he whispered in her ear:

"You're welcome, Ashe."

**AN: I am very sick right now. Like, think Ashe in this chapter. And multiply that by, oh, lets say 10000000. Yeah. Unfortunately, I don't have a sexy Balthier wiping me down with a wet cloth. Damn it. But, I'm sure that you reviewing this chapter would be just as sweet. (Okay, no, but it would still be nice.)**

**Oh, and since I am ill, you can expect me to be popping out a few more of these. They won't all be as long as this (this just took a life of its own). But there will probably be more tonight.**

**And I have to issue a HUGE THANKS TO ALL OF YOU! I would thank you individually, but I think my fever is affecting my ability to recall important details such as names (I am wary that this chapter may suffer because of this affliction). But, thank you soooo much! I'm glad you enjoy it! **


	4. Parenthood

**AN: THIS IS NOT IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER! I actually have no idea where this would take place in my story, but I figure since they are just a bunch of one-shots anyway, that this can go wherever the heck I want. And it's too cute of an image not too be written:)**

**Oh, and note that this is a SHORT little drabble. As in, not 6 pages like my other update tonight. Hopefully.**

**I don't own FF yadda yadda yadda.**

_**Parenthood**_

The single most appealing characteristic of Balthier was not his handsome face, though Ashe sheepishly admitted that his body certainly was held high in her esteem. It was not his confident (at times even cocky) grin, his valiant swagger, or even his skills and abilities in battle. Ashe admired all of these qualities, but she could not value them as much as she valued that _one_ quality. It was a characteristic Ashe was certain only _she _noticed (though it may not have escaped Fran, for rarely anything did). Yet, this characteristic of his was one he tried desperately to conceal.

And _she _had found it.

A huge smile broke on to her face, and she snuck stealthily down the hall of the Aerodrome, making her way to the hanger where the _Strahl_ was located. She slipped inside the hanger silently, and approached the ship carefully, not wanting to disturb (or warn) anyone of her advance. As she knew it would be, the ship was open, and Ashe secretly stole up the stairs and made her way inside. She turned down the corridor heading to the cockpit, stepping lightly so as to not give herself away. She approached the cockpit and smiled, quite broadly, at the sight before her.

There, partially turned away from her, Balthier sat at his pilot's seat. Surrounding him, four plush and adorable Moogles, clamoring for his attention. He sat there grinning, patting their heads and occasionally lifting one into his arms to coddle it. Ashe held her breath to keep from chuckling.

The most endearing quality of Balthier was that he enjoyed playing with Moogles.

Ashe had always had her suspicions. There was the way he would pat Nono on the head when the small Moogle would announce that the _Strahl_ was ready for departure; and the general warmth he displayed to any Moogle that crossed his path was so indicative of his fondness for them Ashe wondered breathlessly how only she had noticed it was there. She had asked him outright once what he had thought of them, but naturally, he had refused to answer. Now she realized that his silence was due to the fact that he could not lie about _this_ with a straight face. Not that she could blame him. After all, how could one _not _like the adorable Moogles?

Of course, it was not by any means easy for Ashe to finally unravel the secret. But she had found that on certain nights, he would steal away from his room at the local inn and make his way down to the Aerodrome, and once there, he would chat jovially with the Moogles about ships and mechanics and whatever else seemed appropriate to speak about. It was through carefully practiced prowling (or 'sneaking', as Vaan would say), that she had managed to follow Balthier and catch him in the act. Of course, she would never let him know that she had caught him. She thought it wiser to spare them both that embarrassment.

From then on, every night he stole away to visit the Moogles, Ashe would steal away herself to follow and observe him. And she had never been caught.

Until now.

She was not quite sure how he had escaped her attention, but a fifth Moogle, none other than Nono himself, had snuck up behind her, and soon had alerted the attention of all the others – and the sky pirate. Balthier stood up in shock and embarrassment, wearing an expression of a boy whose mother had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. His ears slightly red, he looked at Ashe, apparently at a loss for words, while Ashe stood there pink-faced.

And then she laughed. And laughed.

Soon, he too joined her, and they laughed at the complete absurdity of the situation. He motioned for her to come forward, and she nestled into the co-pilot's seat, bending down to give one of the Moogles a quick rub of the head.

He looked at her, still slightly sheepish, and opened his mouth to speak. She cut him off before the words came –

"Our secret."

And so it was. The next time Balthier had tried to sneak down to the Aerodrome, he found Ashe waiting for him in the corridor. And offering her his arm in a most gentlemanly fashion, they escorted one another to the ship, both grinning madly all the while.

On several of these occasions, a particular thought crossed Ashe's mind, though she was unsure that she should ask the question. This question was one she was almost sure he would _never_ answer. But finally, the pull of curiosity was so great, that one night after their rendezvous with the Moogles she found herself asking him anyway.

"Would you ever wish to become father?"

The query had startled him, that was for sure, but she was surprised to find that he opened his mouth to answer.

"Why Princess, isn't it a bit early to be talking about children? I've not even courted you yet." She reddened slightly, but refused to be deterred and brushed off his jest.

"Do not avoid the question by jesting." The grin slipped off of his face, and he lowered his head to consider her words.

"I have never really given much thought to the subject." He had answered.

"You would make a wonderful father," she commented absently. He looked at her skeptically.

"I don't know about that, Princess. Pirating and parenthood do not exactly go hand-in-hand." And he _was_ right. But Ashelia was not about to be persuaded.

"Naturally, being a parent requires _some_ sacrifice," she told him. "But, you are so caring with the Moogles. Obviously you have paternal instincts. Besides," she smiled, "would it not be exciting to raise your child to be a sky pirate?"

He grinned at that, though the expression waned as he spoke. "I fear that I would not be a good father. Look at my own."

She averted her eyes to the ground sadly. How could she have been so careless and forgotten about Dr. Cid? It was a subject he was not fond of. "You are nothing like your father."

He had stopped then, and turned to look at her, seriousness seeping into his handsome features. For several moments he only gazed, and her eyes met his own. "Thank you." He spoke softly.

She nodded and smiled a little then, and then offered him her arm. Grinning, he looped his own through hers and they made their way back.

**AN: I'm done for tonight. Sicky sicky. But, maybe more tomorrow. I have a million of these little stories floating around in my brain.**


	5. Father and Son part 1

**AN: Um, I'm pretty sure the past two nights have been the nights from hell. Being sick is NOT fun. Luckily, for all of you, the time I spent awake shaking from my fever, I managed to develop another story. Hey, I had to do _something_ to stay alive last night.**

**I don't own FFXII. Yeah, that's a boring disclaimer, but whatever.**

**Oh, and you'll begin to see that my little one-shots are completely out of order. Basically, that's just because I write whatever little BalxAshe scene that comes to my mind at the time. Confusing, yes. But it's my party, and I'll cry if I want to.**

**I think I may be taking some liberties with the character's pasts here, but I'm not sure because FFXII canon leaves so much open for interpretation. If I get something mixed up, I'm sure that you will all be kind enough to correct me.  
**

_**Father and Son, pt. 1**_

A 16-year-old Ffamran Mid Bunansa sauntered down the quiet halls of his family's Archadian Manse idly lost in thought. He passed his father's empty study, and briefly stuck his head in. _When will the old man get back?_ He thought to himself. Shrugging, he continued down the hall to his parent's room, and gently pried the door open, as silently as he could. Sticking his head inside, he witnessed the sight of his mother sleeping peacefully. She looked much healthier when she slept, he noted. Not wanting to disturb her, Ffamran quietly closed the door.

He continued his lazy stroll, when he heard footsteps frantically marching down the corridor. Turning the corner, Ffamran took sight of his father, fresh returned from Giruvegan, wherever _that_ was. Stepping forward, the younger man called out to his father.

"Welcome home, Father."

The elder man simply passed him by, brushing past his shoulder. Surprised, Ffamran turned to look after Cidolfus, confused at the man's harsh disregard for his son. Curious, he quickly followed his father.

"What's wrong? What's going on?" He questioned him, but Cid once again ignored him. Reaching his study, the elder Bunansa briskly crossed the threshold of the room, and shut the door behind him. Ffamran stared at the closed study door, perplexed. What had happened at this Giruvegan?

Ffamran heard a low moaning from the room a few doors down. Quickly stepping inside, he saw his mother, pale and shaking. Crossing to her, he pulled a chair up to the side of the bed, sat in it, and grabbed her hand.

"Mother," he spoke, concerned.

She did not reply, and Ffamran could not tell if she was actually awake, or just dreaming. _Perhaps she feels the pain even while she sleeps,_ he thought solemnly. Suddenly, her eyes fluttered open. Ffamran reached his hand forward to brush a few strands of hair from her damp face. Her hazel eyes blinked slowly and turned to look at her son.

"Ffamran," she whispered softly. He squeezed her hand gently. She smiled weakly at her son. "Has your father returned yet?"

He hesitated. The cruel manner in which Cid had acted upon his arrival disconcerted Ffamran. "He is back, yes. But I am afraid he's acting quite odd."

"How so?"

"He completely disregarded my welcome. He raced to his study and shut the door behind him without so much as a greeting," he explained. His mother nodded slightly.

"I'm sure his journey has been difficult. Give him some time, Ffamran." He nodded, and squeezed his mother's hand once more.

Ffamran waited until later that night to check on his father, but found that the study door was locked. After knocking three times, he turned away sullenly, and retired to his bedroom. Perhaps he would have better luck tomorrow.

A full week passed, and Cidolfus did not as much as step outside of his study. Ffamran was greatly concerned. What in Ivalice was going on in there? _What happened in Giruvegan?_

The next day as Ffamran made his way to visit his mother, he noticed the study door slightly ajar. Not wasting a moment, he stepped inside the room and beheld the sight of his father crouched over his desk, muttering incoherently as he poured over what appeared to be aged documents.

"Father," he said curtly, wanting to get his attention. But the older man appeared to have not heard him.

And then the most peculiar thing happened. Cid turned his head briefly to the side, as if he was listening for a noise coming from out of the window. And then he began to speak.

"What's that? What do you mean I have company?" Cid turned his head forward, staring at his son. And then he began speaking again. "Oh him? Yes, that's my son. Yes, we do look very much alike. Same face, same body type. Practically mirror images of one another, that's what we've been told. Except for the eyes. He had his mother's eyes."

A chill ran down Ffamran's spine. Had his father gone mad? The man continued to mutter to himself, apparently thoroughly convinced he indeed was speaking to someone. "Father," he tried again, his voice shaking slightly. Cid finally turned his attention to him.

"Ah, Ffamran. I trust things have been well during my absence." His son stared at him.

"Yes, things have been fine. Who are you talking to?"

Cidolfus straightened up. "Never you mind that, Ffamran. Go and check on your mother."

Slightly horrified at his father's behavior, Ffamran retreated from the study and speedily made his way to his mother. He was glad to see that she was awake. He crossed over to her, taking her hand once more.

"How are you feeling today?" She breathed heavily.

"Today is not one of the better days." He frowned, and placed his hand on her forehead.

"You're warm. Quite warm," he remarked as his hand trailed to her cheek and neck. He stood up and made his way to the bathroom. He grabbed a small bowl and filled it with water. Then he grabbed a washcloth and returned, setting the bowl on the nightstand beside the bed. He dipped the cloth into the water and pressed it to his mother's cheek. She sighed in relief.

"Thank you. I do feel very warm." He nodded and continued to pat down her face with the cool cloth. "Ffamran," she said suddenly. He paused briefly.

"Yes, mother?"

"I am afraid that this illness will soon take me."

He stared down at the floor. "Don't say that. Father, he – he'll find a cure." The words rang hollow in Ffamran's ears. His father. _What a pathetic lie – clearly, Father has gone mad_, he thought bitterly.

"It is all right, son. I have accepted my fate. And you should as well." He swallowed a lump in his throat, and tears threatened to sting his eyes. If his mother should leave him, what would be left? There was obviously something wrong with his father. It frightened him.

"Mother, Father's study was open today."

"That is good. Did he speak to you?" She questioned wearily.

"Actually, I'm concerned. He… seemed to be going mad." She turned to face him. He continued. "He was speaking to himself… well, actually, I think he believed he was speaking to someone… but no one else was in the room."

His mother pressed her lips together. "Perhaps his trip went worse than I imagined. But, do not think on it, Ffamran. I'm sure he will come around soon." He prayed she was right.

She was not.

Months had passed, and Dr. Cidolfus Bunansa had rarely left his study. Every time he passed the door, Ffamran heard his father's mutters, speaking to some invisible soul. The doctor had not even gone to see his dying wife since his return. And her condition continued to worsen. By that time, he'd had enough. Ffamran marched to his father's study and burst through the door. The older man did not look up from his desk, but called out, "Not now, I'm busy."

"She's dying!" Ffamran shouted to his father. "She's dying, and you will not even see her! What is wrong with you?"

Cid slowly looked up at his son. "What would you have me do?"

"Show her you still care!"

Cid merely chuckled, a laugh which sent a shiver down his son's spine. "I have far more important things to tend to right now, Ffamran. Please, do not disturb me further."

"She's dying and it's because of you!" He continued to shout. And when his father ignored him, Ffamran raced out of the study, angry and confused.

"What's that, Venat?" Cid asked the near-empty study. "Do not worry about Ffamran. We can tame him to be a judge yet."

By some miracle of the gods, Lady Bunansa had managed to stay alive for another year and a half, a time period which, Ffamran noted, seemed to creep by slower than an Adamantite. But a few months before his eighteenth birthday, her conditioned worsened greatly. Her son rarely ever left her bedside; doing everything he could to ease her discomfort. She seemed to develop a permanent fever, and Ffamran spent every night wiping her face with that cool washcloth.

It was a night when she had fallen asleep quite early that something peculiar happened. Cid walked into the room. Ffamran stared at him in shock, but the older man motioned for him. "Come with me," he spoke, and his son quickly stood and followed.

He led his son to his study, and upon entering, the first thing Ffamran noticed was a suit of armor. Perplexed, he turned to his father for an explanation.

"It took some persuasion, but I've managed to be successful. You are to become a judge." Ffamran gaped at his father.

"Wh-what?"

"Go ahead. Try it on."

Ffamran slowly pulled the heavy, clinking armor onto his slender frame. When he had successfully fit inside the body, he took the helmet and carefully placed it on his head.

"Excellent!" Cid cried out with glee. "Now, normally, one must be eighteen to become a judge, but with your birthday only a few months away and your mother's current condition, I managed to do some convincing. Well, what do you think?"

"Why must I become a judge?" His words echoed within his helmet, and his father looked at him sharply.

"Because I need _your _help. You becoming a judge will assist me in putting the reins of history back in the hands of man!" Cid exclaimed manically. Ffamran turned to his father, not understanding. "Now, go, show your mother!"

"She's asleep," he replied curtly. "I shall not disturb her."

"Right. Anyway, you shall report to the council first thing in the morning. Just imagine, Ffamran. Imagine what we can accomplish now!"

Not surprisingly, Ffamran despised being a judge. The shallowness of the politics, the backstabbing and the manipulation disgusted him. But his mother had been so proud when he had first entered her room, armor clanking softly. And at this point, he did all he could to lessen her pain.

Just after his eighteenth birthday, he received notice from his home. His mother would be gone soon, and she wished for is return. He set off at once.

Hastily as he could, he made his way to her side, discarding his helmet and gloves, and grabbing her hand. She whimpered softly and he stroked her hair lovingly.

"Mother," he started, but she shushed him.

"I am so happy to see you. But it saddens me to see you so unhappy."

"How can you expect me to be happy when you are near-death?" He explained, the words thick in his throat. She shook her head.

"Being a judge displeases you. Why do you take part in such a task if it makes you miserable?"

"To make you happy," he whispered. She shook her head once more.

"Your Father… I am afraid he is only using you. And to do so in such a manner is lamentable. Please, Ffamran, do not suffer anymore." He nodded. Ffamran then climbed onto the bed, wrapping his arms around her lithe frame, and held her tightly.

"I love you, Mother."

Lady Bunansa died in her son's arms that night. Completely numb, Ffamran made his way to his father's study. Cid was sitting at his desk, muttering nonsense about the nethecite.

"She's gone," Ffamran whispered in a choked voice. His father stood suddenly.

"I have to go to the lab. I'll be back later tonight."

"Did you hear me?" His son exclaimed angrily. "She's dead!"

His father walked out of the room without as much as a passing glance. Ffamran stared after him, burning with rage. He turned back around, examining his father's now empty study with ire. And in an act of complete desperation, he began clawing at his armor, unfastening the hooks and rapidly discarding each piece. He took the helmet and with all the strength he could muster threw it at his father's desk, shattering the instruments that sat there. Each piece of armor was thrown about the study, destroying instruments and trinkets, rustling papers and colliding with books. He continued until every last piece had been strewn about. He took a long look at that study, for what would be the last time.

And then he ran.

**AN: So this is more serious than previous installments, but hopefully, it allows for more insight into Balthier's character and motivations. This could stand alone, but I decided to include it in "Of Roses and Clouds" because there are a few references to a previous chapter. Cookies for those who spot it (it's really quite obvious).**

**Oh, and for those of you who have an LJ account at the BalxAshe community, I'm trying to figure out exactly how to post my fics there, but I'm so not technologically inclined… if anyone could email or message me on how to do that, I will reward you with a ficcy! Thanks!**


	6. On This Island

**AN: Still sick. Yeah, the universe hates me.**

**Um, this is another kind of serious chapter. But, personally, it's my favorite so far. I hope you enjoy.**

**Don't own FFXII. Although that will change soon, because I'm planning on overthrowing Square-Enix… I mean, um, no.**

**Oh, 'nother note. The title was partially inspired by the musical "Once On This Island", which I was listening to when I was writing this. So, giving that credit where credit is due.**

_**On This Island**_

The sun had just begun to set, and its retreating rays painted the sky with hues of vibrant oranges and burnt reds. The clouds glowed gold and crimson, swirling around the diminishing sun. The sky looked tranquil and serene, and the beach of Phon Coast reflected this same temperament. The palms swayed gently in the easy breeze, and the waves swelled tenderly against the shoreline. The sun's ebbing light gave the appearance that each oncoming wave was a leaf of gold; the illusion dissipated when the swell smoothed against the shore, reflecting a warm cerulean against the pale sand. As the waves fell back into the ocean, they left in their wake glittering shells that peppered the coastline with a radiant luminance. The shells twinkled against the grainy salt, the sun illuminating their pearly hue.

Ashe gazed at the scenery before her. _I wish_, she thought with a sad smile, _I could stay here forever._ It struck her odd that she should wish to live on the doorstep of the Capitol; of the _Empire._ Phon Coast was far too beautiful to belong to Archadia, she thought bitterly.

The rest of her companions seemed to be enjoying the coast's beauty and serenity. Penelo and Vaan trekked along the jeweled shoreline, leaving gentle footprints in the wet sand behind them. Ashe mused they were looking for shells or some other sort of ocean gift; both seemed to be examining the water, and once in a while one would point to the water and the other would quickly dive down, plunging their hand in the water, laughing gleefully whether they were successful or not. Basch, Fran, and Balthier had taken refuge underneath some palms a short distance away from where Ashe stood. The three seemed to be having a conversation, Balthier, unsurprisingly, doing most of the talking, and every now and again Basch taking his turn or Fran nodding. Ashe's gaze examined each of her companions. Basch's golden hair was illuminated by the sun; so much his entire countenance appeared lighter. He was sitting on a flat rock, and the princess noted that he seemed… relaxed. In fact, he seemed to be genuinely enjoying the company of the sky pirates, and Ashe smiled softly at that. Fran stood off to the side, her silver hair swaying gently in the wind. It did not appear that she was actively contributing to the discussion, but she was, Ashe could recognize, intently listening.

Ashe then shifted her attention to Balthier. He was leaned up against a palm, arms folded easily across his chest, head cocked, with that insufferable grin splayed upon his face. He seemed to be greatly enjoying their little tête-à-tête. Ashe noticed his earrings slightly shimmered when he titled his head, and she could not help but wonder how exactly it was he had gotten them, and for that matter, why so many. She thought perhaps she would ask him one day, but snorted at the notion. She highly doubted he would answer that question. Still, it was so hard for her to fathom it; this man, this carefree, independent, oftentimes troublesome man, with his piracy and his earrings and flamboyant jewelry, was once a_ judge_.

His revelation to her had been shocking, to say the least. The fact that she had learned more of his father was surprise enough; Balthier _was_ a good man, but he was rarely that open or honest (she deemed this having to do with his profession in piracy). For him to offer so much information to her, to let her inside – if only for a moment – well, Ashe did not know what to think. It could not have been easy for him, to relate the story to her. But he did, for her own self-preservation. And that thought comforted Ashe. However she also felt a twinge of sadness for the man. She had been so harsh towards him in the beginning – judging him for being a pirate; the certain infuriating remarks (though one could hardly blame her for becoming angry at his comments on her skirt). And yet, Ashe realized, he was a pirate because the alternative _was so much worse_. Her eyes drifted to the sky, where she saw to puffs of clouds trailing easily in the breeze. They floated by gently, flying across the sky free of cares. _That is why he is a cloud,_ she reasoned. He flew because he _had_ to fly. And yet, what had come of it?

"All that running," he had told her, "and I got nowhere." He had said it in a tone she had never heard him use before. He had sounded almost… defeated.

Ashe turned her attention back the sky pirate. It was he who was listening now, heeding whatever words were spilling from Basch's mouth. He shifted the position of his head, and his eyes drifted to _her_. He noticed her watching him, and winked charmingly. Ashe felt the heat creep up the back of her neck, but did not break eye contact. Instead, she tilted her head slightly and offered him a small smile, and was pleased when he returned the favor.

Finally breaking off her gaze, Ashe's sight settled back on the setting sun, which, having sunk lower now reflected in the sky not so brightly or vividly as before. The oranges and reds had faded now into a lighter and paler pink and purple. The sky above her was falling into a shade of midnight, and Ashe saw the faint glimmer of a few stars beginning to appear. Turning toward the ocean, she began to descend from the hill on which she was perched, and made her way to the water. Stripping off her boots, she placed them beside a lonely palm; in turn, she removed her sword and scabbard. Then she walked across the smooth sand; the grains pleasantly forming to her feet. She walked to the edge of the water, to where the sand was damp from the swelling waves, and allowed her feet to be washed by the tide. The water was pleasant and warm, warmer than she had expected, but she welcomed it.

_I wish I could stay here forever…_

She had stayed there until the sun had nearly set completely. Now, all that was left emitting from the sun's radiance was a lovely rose-colored hue, pale and gentle, spread across the horizon and blending into the brilliant violet that had now overtaken the rest of the sky. Ashe had sunk to her knees, just far enough so that she would not be overtaken by the tide, yet near enough to feel the soft mist from the foamy waves on her face.

_If I stayed here forever, what then? No more nethecite, Dynast-King, no more war. No more mad judges, princes, worries, no more cares. _Oh, how she longed to live without such problems. _But if I stay here forever, I am no more than a coward._

It was the simple truth. She had yearned so much to trade places with someone else, to throw away her life as a princess. She had the chance two years ago, when "Amalia" was born. She could have run, started a new life, and been spared this suffering.

But Ashe could never live with the shame.

She heard a figure approaching, and turned to see Penelo drawing near. "Hello, Ashe," she said with a sweet smile.

"Good evening, Penelo," Ashe politely replied.

"Whatcha up to?" The younger girl inquired, taking a seat next to the Princess. Ashe contemplated.

"I'm simply thinking."

"'Bout what?" The younger girl asked, pulling her knees up to her chest and crossing her arms around them. "A million things, I suppose, huh?"

Ashe chuckled. "You could say that."

Penelo began to rock herself back and forth, absently in sync with the ocean waves. "You know… if you need to, you can always talk to me. Or any one of us for that matter. We're all here for you," she turned to the older woman. "Although, I have to warn you, Vaan isn't really good with advice, so you may want to avoid him," she winked.

Ashe chuckled again. She did have good companions… well, friends. They had been through so much together, and Ashe supposed they had earned that title. And yet… she could not tell them about her dilemma. Whether or not to use the nethecite; act out her revenge on the empire… how on earth could she burden them in such a manner, when they had risked so much for her already? "Thank you, Penelo," Ashe smiled at the younger girl. "But do not worry for me. I'm fine, thank you."

Penelo nodded, and rose to her feet. She extended her hand towards Ashe, and smiling, the Princess took it. "Let's head back to camp," the bubbly blonde told her companion. Ashe gathered up her boots and weapons, and together they headed towards their party.

The two girls arrived to find the others had begun dinner. "Eat," Fran had, politely, demanded her, and Ashe took her plate and did so. They ate in a companionable silence, broken every now again by either Vaan or Penelo's playful banter. Ashe looked to the horizon, and saw that every trace of the sun was now gone. It made her slightly sad, yet she did not undervalue the beauty of the glittering stars above her, which she noticed were brighter than she had ever seen them in her entire life. _That's how it is, on this island, _she thought. _Everything is better here. _

Ashe felt a pair of eyes on her, and shifting, she turned to see who was gazing at her. Across from her, beyond the fire, Balthier's hazel eyes focused intently on her, the orange light from the fire flickering across his features, and Ashe found it hard to breathe with him staring at her in such a manner. She turned away, turning to Penelo and Vaan, pretending to be interested in their conversation. She felt his eyes still burning on her, and it disconcerted her. She hurriedly finished her supper, and then announced that she was retiring for the night. The others bid her good-night, and she retreated to the tent she shared with Penelo.

Ashe could not sleep, though. Those eyes had unnerved her so much. What was his intent? Was he perhaps trying to communicate with her, give her more warnings about nethecite and Dr. Cid? What did he want from her? Ashe did not know what to do – the nethecite frightened her, but what other choice was there? She was a princess, and she served her kingdom first…

She was afraid there would be no other option, in the end.

Her thoughts had kept her awake, tormenting her, and when she overheard the rest of the party retire for the night and Penelo finally enter the tent, she had to feign sleep as to not worry the normally quite cheerful girl. In a short manner of moments, Penelo had drifted off, and Ashe lay awake, tossing and turning, her head too full of information. Oh, she needed to see that sunset, that beauty, because it helped her forget these worries. She needed the sky right now.

Kicking off the blankets, Ashe opened the flap of the tent and crept outside. Having settled in the Hunter's Camp, she did not need to fear prowling fiends, and left her weapon. Barefoot, she made her way across the sand, the grains now cooler due to lack of sun. Ashe strolled along the beach, taking deep breaths and smelling the salty ocean. The water had transformed from gold to silver. The soft glow from the moon spread across the surface, and with each lap of every wave the water shimmered in an ethereal manner. Turning her head, she gazed around and noticed a figure in the distance. Though it was dark and the moon was only crescent, she could tell by the way the shape leaned against the palm tree, with arms folded loosely in front of his chest and head cocked slightly to one side, _exactly_ who it was. She stopped in her tracks. She could approach him, but what would that result in? More lectures on the proper use of nethecite, more warnings, she wondered bitterly. Then she winced. His last words to her had not been chiding _or_ lecturing.

"Don't lose your heart to a stone. You're too strong for that, Princess." He was only trying to help her, she realized. And assistance was something she was in desperate need of.

He had not noticed her yet, and she realized that if she wanted to, she could turn around or avert her path. She did not have to talk to him. She almost was afraid to – Balthier had a nasty habit of saying things she did not particularly want to hear, however true they might be. But Ashe did not turn around. After all, right now, she needed the _sky. _

She noticed, in the dim moonlight, he had begun fiddling with something. She squinted, trying to see what exactly it was. Deciding, she began to draw forward, though silently, to try and watch him unobserved. The trinket he was holding in his hand was silver, and it shone in the palm of his hand. That's when she realized – _Rasler's ring. _A bitter taste invaded Ashe's mouth. She had almost forgotten _that_ cruel act on his part, asking for, of all things, her dead husband's wedding ring as compensation for his assistance. But a part of her was curious. What was he thinking, as he stared at that ring sitting in the palm of his hand? Did he feel guilty for asking it of her? And did he actually intend to return it to her, when he "found something more valuable?" Absently, she began to stroke her own ring, longingly.

It was as if he'd sense her presence, for his head shot up quickly and turned to look right at her. They said nothing for a few moments, until Ashe mustered the strength to whisper, "May I see it?"

Without hesitating, he outstretched his palm, the silver band laying flat on it. She reached forward and daintily picked it up; she fisted it and pulled it close to her chest, hesitating for a moment, before looking down and opening her palm. Yet, to her surprise, the sadness she had steeled herself to be prepared for did not come. In her palm was _just_ a ring. It was a simple silver band, no pattern and no intricacies. Just like her own. She had expected to feel sadder, had hoped that by touching the ring, she would feel Rasler again, hear his voice in her head. Nothing.

She put her hand out to Balthier, and he looked at her for a moment, hesitating. Then he reached out and put his hand in hers. Her fingers nearly twitched at the way he drew his over her palm and he gently clasped the ring and lifted it from her grasp. He turned to pocket it and she asked, "Why do you not wear it?"

He looked at her. "Because it is not mine to wear." Ashe felt a surge of gratitude. Balthier then gave a weary sigh, and sunk down the trunk of the tree, sitting in the small patch of grass. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, and Ashe felt as if she should leave him. But something was compelling her to stay – and she sat down next to him, folding her knees into her body and resting her head on top of them. He looked at her then, and she back at him, and they had a mutual understanding and respect of the silence. She sat there by him, cradling her head with her arms, and watched the waves softly crash against the sand. The flow and ebb lulled her, and her lids felt heavy and began to droop. She struggled for a few minutes to stay awake, but finally gave in to her tiredness.

And then she was moving. She was moving, yet she knew that she _could not_ be moving. Firstly, she was not fully awake. And secondly, she was not walking. At least, she did not think she was walking. For walking generally comprised of using one's legs. And Ashe's legs were not touching the ground.

Ashe was fairly certain she should have been alarmed by that. But she was so tired, she simply did not care. Yet, why was she moving?

Doing the best she could to become aware of her surroundings, Ashe felt her head resting against something firm and warm. Forcing her eyes open, she saw an intricate pattern of black and dull gold colored leather. She recognized that pattern. Her eyes drifted up the vest, up to a white collar, and a firm jaw. Balthier. Balthier was carrying her. And he had not noticed that she was semi-awake. She looked at him inquisitively, examining his lips, which looked soft, his straight nose, his light brown hair, and those hazel eyes. He glanced down at her, and she could not feign sleep fast enough. And her cheeks turned slightly pink as he caught her outright staring at him, though he didn't seem to mind. His grip on her tightened, and he smiled softly down at her, continuing to camp. He reached her tent and slipped easily through the flap, being careful as to not mishandle her in anyway. Gingerly, he laid her down on her blankets and she snuggled into their warmth.

He looked intently down at her for a few more moments, before nodding goodnight to her, and then left Ashe to drift off to a peaceful sleep.

**AN: I just want to thank all of you for your generous reviews! I hope you enjoy this chapter – I labored to pound it out, but I hope it's good!**


	7. Rain

**I don't know how I feel about this. It was a very labored process to get this right, but I figure even if it isn't as good as my last installment, I need to put up something – this fic WON'T die, I promise you all. So, enjoy.**

_**Rain**_

She was a marvel. Truly, there were days when she simply _awed_ him, though he would never actually show it. The days where she could trudge through sleet and rain, clamber over mucky hills and mudded plains, and go on uncomplainingly, despite the fact that her boots were besmirched with filth and her other articles of clothing soiled by grime. She plodded on, head held high in that dignified, _royal_ way of hers. He admired her for it. He respected the way she could traipse through snowy knolls and blizzard climes, and he greatly admired when the cold wind made her cheeks flush and her dainty nose turned pink. He _loved _watching her, as she swung that Sword of her Dynast-lineage, felling beasts of all proportions, not hesitating when the blood sprayed crimson against her pale face. The way she moved, her arms graceful, her legs swift, the power of her hips, _that damned skirt_. He would admit unashamedly that it was that skirt that gave him the most pleasure, though he was not so daft to _ever_ admit that aloud. Not a chance. Still, for all the blood-and-mud soiled clothing, the pair of blistered, overused hands, and those wind-chapped lips and flushed cheeks, she was still so regal, so graceful.

_Refusing to wilt_, he smirked amusedly. He certainly had her pegged. _Rose, indeed. _

He honestly did not know what originally had made him think of it. All he knew was that Al-Cid Margrace, _Prince _of Rozarria, was certainly not going to gain the upper-hand in a game of clever, intended-for-seducing-beautiful-women word play. Balthier supposed that it was out of spite of the Prince (and certainly not jealousy, thank you) that he had decided to call the Princess a rose. It had been the opposite of what Al-Cid had compared her to (a "Desert Bloom," now really!) – and therefore, it was a completely natural response. Balthier wondered at his own resentment for the prince. Certainly, the man had not slighted him in any way. Balthier simply was determined to not like the man. He didn't need a particular reason. His eyes wandered to a flash of pink.

_That skirt._

Okay, maybe he _did_ have a reason to dislike Al-Cid Margrace. But, like so many other things, Balthier was not about to _ever _admit it out loud. Not a chance.

Balthier was not so proud or foolish as to admit he was not attracted to Ashe. Certainly, _she was a marvel._ And he was the leading man. It was practically destined in the stars. "_But she's a Princess,"_ Fran had told him once. He shrugged.

Every leading man had his obstacles. Balthier was more disappointed that _his_ happened to be so cliché.

Although, he found himself admitting that sometimes, it was more than a simple attraction. He was attracted by many women – but the tug he felt towards Ashe was more overpowering than usual. Of course, he figured it was because she was a Princess. And he was a Pirate. He surmised that pirates generally were attracted to things of either great wealth, or impossibility of attainability. Ashe was both. And yet, so much more. She was a one-of-a-kind woman. He had to admit, the way she pouted her lips and she pirouetted to carve into a wild behemoth was _exhilarating_. She was unafraid, headstrong, and far too clever for her own damn good. _He_ had learnt this firsthand.

But she also cared. Passionately and deeply. He was surprised at how gentle a soul she had, given her fiery countenance. He was grateful that she seemed to have warmed up to him, acting kinder to him, actually conversing with him for pleasure rather than necessity.

Maybe this wasn't so impossibly unattainable after all.

Yet for some reason, despite the tugs and yearnings, and his deep curiosity to discover what those pink lips felt like, he never dared approach her. She wasn't like other women – he was almost unsure of how to proceed. So he resolved to simply admire from afar.

And so watch her he did, as she trudged through sleet and snow and rain and mud and behemoths. With this intense study of her, he learned more and more, and he drank in knowledge of her character eagerly. He noted that when she was lost in deep thought, she would twirl a lock of her golden hair around her finger, twisting and tangling it. When her thoughts were daunting or troublesome, she would gently, and just barely noticeably, bit down on her lower lip. When she was irritated, she pouted those rosy lips and furrowed her brow. When she was happy, she would never fully smile, but her eyes would sparkle and her cheeks would brighten slightly, and if she was _really_ happy, the faintest sign of a smile would curl on her lips.

But he also noticed the weariness. It seeped out from her eyes, and he figured she didn't realize just how revealing those eyes were. To think, she was only a young woman yet, at nineteen years old. Forced to grow up far too fast – becoming things she was not yet meant to be. A wife, a widow, an orphan. Much like him. Going from a young teenage boy, to a judge, and now – well, he was certainly the only pirate around worthy of a _queen_. Provided that they saw their journey to the end. Balthier shook such thoughts from his head. They were more than capable of reaching the finale of their trek, though he prayed that Ashe did not lose her resolve before then.

He was determined to not let her give up. He tried in everyway to comfort her, steady her – though he highly suspected that she realized nothing. Still, it had not been lightly that he had relinquished that painful information about himself when the two had been alone on Phon Coast. She seemed to have been truly grateful for his counsel, at least, grateful enough to fall asleep on his shoulder that night. But he knew, for all his jesting and his counsel, he couldn't distract her. And despite his resolve to protect her from foes, to lead her on this expedition, he couldn't protect her from her _thoughts_.

And one day, he finally realized just how unbearable they were. She hadn't known anyone was there, when she walked into the cockpit of the _Strahl._ He'd been crouched down, huddled under an open panel, reworking some the controls to ensure the safety and comfort of their upcoming flight. She'd wandered in almost in a flurry, and near collapsed into the nearest seat. Without noticing his presence, she furrowed her brows and closed her eyes tight, and Balthier saw a single, glistening tear trace its way down her pale cheek. She breathed in deeply before opening her eyes.

And in a second, it was done – she sat straighter, regaining her composure, and nonchalantly wiped away the offending wetness from her face. Regally, she rose from the seat, and began to exit.

Then she saw him.

The effect of the realization of his presence was profound on her. She stopped dead in her tracks, in shock and humiliation, as she stared down at him. Slowly he rose, not saying anything, and Balthier realized that the moment he had just witness, that rare vision of weakness – it was the most profound act of piracy he had ever partaken in. The revelation of vulnerability he had just plundered from her… he had never felt so guilty in all his life.

She continued to gape at him, her cheeks burning. As if not being able to stand his gaze any longer, she hastily made her way to the door, but he called out to her willing her to stop.

"Ashe!"

And she stopped at the doorframe; her had lifted and pressed against the wall. Hesitantly, she turned around, and Balthier's heart lurched. Tears. Streaming silently down that porcelain façade. Her gray eyes were stormy, and in a small, broken voice she spoke: "I apologize."

"It's all right."

She looked at him then, and through her tears she offered a small, genuine smile. The vision was beautiful.

"Thank you." She was gone then, and he turned around, walking back to his pilot's chair, and he glanced out the front windshield.

_Funny,_ he thought. He hadn't noticed that it had been raining.

**AN: Reviews are appreciated. Please – any constructive criticism you have to offer, that would be wonderful. Especially for this chap – I want to make sure Balthier is believable, but this chap was really hard to pound out. Sorry I haven't been updating – enrolling for college is time consuming, lemme tell you. As well as rehearsing for the school musical – being a lead is nice, but stressful. Hope you all catch the motifs in this one – they aren't as blatantly spelled out as in my other chapters, so lemme know if I did an okay job conveying them. Much love to you all!**


	8. Nightmares

**Slightly different version from the one on live-journal, but this is better. I think. Only slightly. I've not forgotten you, my loves. So here you go. **

_**Nightmares**_

There would be nights when she would have nightmares. Horrible, horrible nightmares. She would see the dead, lifeless bodies of Rasler, her family, Vossler, and she would bolt upright, drenched in sweat, panting and crying.

On those nights when she had those horrible, horrible nightmares, she would often leave her room and make her way outside, to breathe in the fresh air. If she did not, she often felt as if she was asphyxiating on the visions of those she had failed. And those that had failed her.

Some nights when she had those horrible, horrible nightmares, she would stay out for hours, until the sun rose, and only when the morning light hit her face would she feel at ease to close her eyes again. She would always conceal her sleep deprivation from her comrades, though.

On a few nights when she had those horrible, horrible nightmares, she would stay in her room, burrowed under her bed sheets, and she would cry hard. Very hard. She could cry, silently, of course, so hard that her head would pound and the room would spin. And, exhausted, she would always drift back off to sleep. Only sometimes would she not see those faces.

One night, she had a different nightmare. It was still very horrible. She still saw death – but this time, she saw death in the faces of her comrades. In the faces of Vaan and Penelo, the two happy youths who had their whole life ahead of them. In the face of Fran, who was so sagely and guiding, who had helped her in ways she could never imagine. In the face Larsa, the young Solidor who was so pure of heart. In the face of Basch, who proved to be one of her closes confidantes. In the face of Balthier, who meant more to her than she could say aloud.

On this night, she stole into the hallway of the _Strahl_, and made her way down the corridor to the cockpit, intent on opening the hatch and walking about outside, as she did so many other nights. On this night, as she entered the cockpit, she found it already occupied. He sat in his pilot's chair, staring idly out the windshield.

"The hatch is open, if you wish to venture outside. I must warn you though, it's a bit chilly."

So he had known. He was far shrewder than she gave him credit for. She advanced closer, and he swiveled his chair around to face her. And as she looked into his weary face and tired eyes, she realized.

"You have nightmares, too." It was a whisper. He acknowledged her affirmatively. She thought for a few moments. Were his nightmares of death as well? Or were they of something else, like his father, or Venat, or even perhaps, perish the thought, a life for him without the sky. There were some things he simply could not run from.

And neither could she.

"I don't want to go outside tonight."

He nodded, and extended him arm to her. She didn't hesitate, and slid onto his lap, curling into his proffered embrace, resting her head against his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her waist. As she drifted off to sleep, she mused that this would likely not cure the nightmares – but at least they both were comforted.

**AN: I was trying to write my Valentine's Day story for this couple, but I've hit a major road block, and this was the result of my frustration with that. I meant it to be even shorter than this, but oh well. I'm sure parts of it stink, so please, gimme advice on how to fix. Much love to you. **


	9. Father and Son part 2

**Another update. Yes. Inspired by and dedicated to The Blearing Phoenix.**

**I don't own anything. Not even clothes. I am typing this naked.**

_**Father and Son, part 2**_

Balthier reasoned that he had a fairly even-keeled personality. He reasoned that he allowed himself to be carried along in the direction of the wind, or some kind of hackneyed metaphor like that - for all the prestige of his silver tongue, at times, the necessary words never seemed to grace it.

He also reasoned that when it came to his father, the best option was always to run the opposite direction. It was a code he'd followed religiously for several years now. He would run away – from his father's madness and ambition. He would run away from the judgeship his father had strove to attain for his son. Balthier ran away because it was easier than having to actually face Dr. Cidolfus Bunansa – because when he looked into that man's eyes Balthier saw himself: the things he was to become, and the things he feared most of becoming. And Balthier hated those things, hated looking into those eyes. The easiest and most viable alternative to looking into his father's eyes was to run away. So that's what did, what he had always done, and what he had convinced himself he would continue to forever do.

Until he had met Ashe; after that, everything had changed.

He hadn't known what he was thinking when he agreed – no, _offered_ to escort her to Archades, to lead her back to the very place he was trying to escape from. He had partly been driven by an unexplainable urge to prevent the princess from traveling with the hairy, hardly-as-suave-and-handsome-as-he Rozarrian prince… but he also had a genuine interest in helping Ashe for the sake of helping Ashe.

He of course had underestimated the toll that would be paid on him when he finally did return to his home. Walking through the streets of Old-Archades had made Balthier far more uncomfortable than he would ever admit aloud, and the presence of Jules had not helped the matter one bit. Though the two were companions, Balthier was not so daft to know that Jules would let "slip" information at the moment of personal self-gain. It was one of the many aspects of Archades that the sky pirate had certainly _not_ missed.

And yet, he'd forced himself to go back, practically sauntered back to the laboratory where his father spent his time, at the expense of a son and dying wife. Balthier silently admitted his heart was still very bitter and cold about that. It was a feeling he slightly reveled in though – those feelings signified that he was at least still more human than his father.

Oh, despite all the adventures the rogue pirate had overcome, the dangers and the toils, the foes he had vanquished, nothing had prepared him for that encounter with his father after so long. The elder Bunansa seemed to regard his son as a mere annoyance – an unexpected visitor, but not something to take heed of. Balthier attempted to shrug off his father's apathy to his visitation, and met Cidolfus' eyes with a hard stare. The same stare, he knew, that he had worn after his mother's death. And Dr. Cid simply returned the gaze with indifferent eyes. He would later find that he would have nightmares about those eyes, about that gaze, about that uncaring, unfeeling air that his father regarded him with. Those nightmares would plague him for a very long time.

And then the doctor turned away, looked towards the princess, and his previously uncaring eyes alighted as if a flame had been taken to a hearth. And for a moment, Balthier lost track of whatever his father was speaking of, because his eyes were intently locked on his father's, terrified of the look that was living inside of them. That look of madness.

What had happened next was unexpected. Zecht – _Reddas_ had charged, and then to Balthier's own shock had been expelled with an invisible and horrific force, sending him crumpling to the floor. Balthier turned as his father drew his gun, and without hesitation Balthier drew his own. And in an instant, he felt Ashe next to him, sword drawn, and he could feel determination and fury radiated from her small frame. He gave her a slight sideways glance, and she returned his gaze with one of her own, full of compassion and almost apologetic.

"Don't look at me that way, princess. The only thing you shall be sorry for now is if you strike the old man before I do."

She nodded, and turned back to face the madman, steeling her eyes and straightening her composure, sliding into the familiar and comfortable battle stance she'd been well trained in. Balthier cocked his own gun, and aimed.

"…He wasn't mad at all then, was he?" He'd spoken softly, when he knew only Ashe remained. She turned to him, opening her mouth to say something, but at the moment he could not bear to hear it, and he turned away, walking along the path his fellow comrades had already began trekking. He felt the princess' eyes burning holes into the back of his scalp, and he fortified himself against them. Inhaling deeply, he blanked his face before turning back to face her. "Well, princess? Are you coming or not? I highly doubt you wish to spend the night in a giant crystal with flying spirit objects swooping about." He'd forced himself to speak lightly, but Ashe still regarded him with those curious eyes. He sighed.

"Let it go, Ashe. Forget about it… at least, for now."

She reluctantly nodded, and then slowly made her way to where he stood. With a flourish, he joking offered his arm to her in a gallant and most gentlemanly manner, and with a small smile, she wrapped her own in his, walking with him back to the teleport stone. And despite his inner turmoil, the sensation of her body against his calmed him, and he found himself unconsciously slowing to prolong their journey.

"Do not purposely dally, Balthier; we must catch up to the others."

"Oh, but you fail to realize that not often to I find beautiful princesses clinging to my arm – I must savor this moment as best I can." She laughed softly, and he dared pull her closer to his side. She turned to glance up at him then, and regarded him with a look to intense and had Balthier not his wits he would have leaned down and pressed his lips to hers right there. What a breach of propriety that would have been, yet he was half-tempted to do so, and very well may have had not Vaan's exasperating voice interrupted the moment.

"Come on you two!"

He mentally reminded himself to one day shoot Vaan.

"Let us go," the princess spoke softly. He regarded her a moment before asking.

"What will you do? Will you listen to the Occuria?" When she did not answer, he leaned down, ignoring the fact that Vaan was merely twenty steps away, and whispered into her ear, "Please… think of my father." The words had the effect he had desired, stopping Ashe cold. He pulled his body out of her grasp and began walking away, but a thought flitted across his mind, and smirking devilishly he realized he could not pass the opportunity up.

"You must remember the role you must play, princess."

She furrowed her brow at him. "And what role is that, may I inquire?"

"Why, the part of the _rose_."

He had laughed inwardly at the irritated huff behind him.

His body trembled, jittery with anticipation, fear, anxiety – yet he forced himself to keep his finger on that trigger, that gun aimed toward his father's chest. The elder Cid was much lighter-footed than anyone in the party would have guessed, but slowly they had managed to chip away at his defense. The few shots Balthier had managed to get off had been off the mark, but not by much – there were a few times Balthier was sure he saw his father look upon him impressed.

This time, Balthier knew his shot would be true.

The bullet had surprised his target, as well as everyone else, even himself. Cidolfus had stumbled backwards, shocked. It had been a little off, Balthier mused – lodged in the upper part of his father's shoulder, rather than piercing the heart he was sure was intoxicated with power. With his good arm, Cid raised his own gun at his son, and fired. Barely, the pirate managed to somersault out of the way, hitting the cold floor hard. The mad doctor was quicker than any of them could have anticipated, and fired again. Balthier had only managed to stumble onto his feet before he heard the second shot. As if by miracle, the sky pirate felt a heavy hand pulling on his collar, yanking him aside, and disoriented Balthier saw Basch holding onto him. The older man looked at him concerned, and Balthier's eyes expressed the gratitude he owed his comrade. Silently, Basch accepted it before turned back to Cid, who had clawed his way towards Penelo and Fran, each frantically throwing spells towards their foe's direction. Cid swung the butt of his gun and landed a hit against Fran's neck, sending her sprawling, but Penelo managed to maintain enough concentration to send an aero spell towards the doctor, expelling the man toward the wall. Balthier and Basch collected themselves and steadied their weapons in their hands, gun and long-sword, and charged forward.

Vaan had managed to assist Fran to her feet, handing her a potion and steadying her dizzy form. After checking on his partner, Balthier swiveled around to see Ashe and Reddas side-by-side, fending off Cid's blasts. Ashe led the charge, shield in front, deflecting the doctor's blows, and Reddas behind her, bursting forth to attack when Cid's guns had reached a cease-fire, lunging out at the Doctor and his Occurian companion. Even from his distance, Balthier could detect his father's fatigue; the way his shoulders slumped slightly, the heavy panting, the deep stain of crimson expelling from the bullet wound inflicted moments earlier. Determined to finish the battle, he strode forward, gun in front, and aimed. His father had noticed the oncoming onslaught, but whether he actually saw his son's approach or merely sensed it, Balthier did not know. Yet it did not matter. The second Cid turned his body, Balthier saw his chance. Without hesitation, he fired his gun.

This time, he struck the man in the chest, and the force of the blow thrust the man to the floor. In that moment, Balthier's breath hitched in his throat, and his insides turned cold, to ice. In the pit of his stomach, he shivered at the thought that he had just killed his father.

The rest of his comrades had stopped, stilled by the sound of the gun. They all turned to look at the body lying immobile on the floor – all save for one, whose grey eyes turned to Balthier's own. He met her gaze, and she quickly made her way to him. Mist seethed around them, and his father struggled to his feet.

Hardly knowing what he was doing, his gun fell to the floor with a clatter and he raced forward to his father's weak figure. He stopped dead in his tracks when the spirit vision of Venat blocked his path, its yellow eerie eyes boring into his own honey-hued.

"Let him by, Venat. It is done." He stumbled forward, breathing heavily. "Ah, how I have enjoyed these six years."

"The pleasure was all mine." Venat slowly receded. Balthier turned to look at his father, look into those eyes that had haunted him for so long.

"Was there no other way?" He managed to croak.

"Heh. Spend your pity elsewhere. If you are to set on running, hadn't you best be off? Fool of a pirate."

Those words had stung, but Balthier willed himself to stay his gaze on his father's face. Cid's figure slowly began to fade into nothingness, and the sky pirate felt himself going numb. He wanted to open his mouth, say something, anything, tell the old man how much _hated_ him, how angry he was, but his mouth was dry as sandpaper and those necessary would would not come, so he clamped it shut, and forced himself to stay composed. Ffamran "Balthier" Bunansa watched Cidolfus fade away with the sickening, icy realization that he had just murdered his father.

**AN: Darker than my normal stuff, guaranteeing a slight increase in the rating. But, still, I needed to update this. Although, I had originally planned this to be the final of the "Father and Son" line, but lucky for you all I have now a third part in the making. So, keep an eye out for it, in a while.**

**Sorry it's been a while. I'm now writing two stories, and trying to graduate from high school, while being a lead in the school musical and working a part-time job. I'm a busy girl. This chappie is dedicated to Wakamoley (yay for "nightmares" reference, hope you catch it in there) and The Blearing Phoenix. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and be sure to press that lovely review button!**


	10. Lullaby

**Don't own the copyright of FFXII. Mmmm, yeah. **

_**Lullaby**_

It was surprisingly tender, the quiet lilt she heard. Soft, and considerably smooth – the hum seemed to glide upon the air gingerly. Its tone was rich and exquisite; full of warmth and extremely tantalizing to her ear. She silently drew closer, not wanting to disturb the source. The melody was breezy and light and the words strung together in a gentle legato. She stopped briefly and closed her eyes, allowing herself to soak up the resonance. The song shifted, and its singer's voice swelled to accommodate the lofty notes, before cascading down again with a musical rift. So _smooth_. She forced herself to step forward, further into the cockpit of the _Strahl_. She mentally willed her feet to stop being so _clunky_, to instead travel as lightly as the beautiful baritone that swept across the air.

She hadn't known he could _sing_.

Rather, she had never presumed it. Certainly, he had many talents – acting, oh indeed, and she couldn't forget pirating. But singing – and singing well? This was no ordinary tavern song that breathed from his lips. This was artful; it was complex, tender – though she could not call it a ballad, or a folk song. This composition was calming to her. It was nice.

Wrapped up in her thoughts, she had hardly noticed that the lull had _stopped_, or that its supplier had swiveled his chair 'round to feast his eyes upon his midnight guest. It was only when the owner's voice rang out in a clear staccato that she snapped to attention.

"May I help you, princess?"

Suddenly embarrassingly alert, she whipped her head downward in an effort to pretend she was highly interested in the shine of her boots. A low timbre of laughter affected her hearing, and in an act of forced composure, raised her head to meet his gaze. His eyes smiled, clearly amused at her discomfort. That wicked grin of his slowly spread across his features, and she became more brazen in her posture, standing straighter, aligning her back into a more regal position, eyes glazing over, haughtier. He waved off her impertinence with a small chuckle, and she silently damned the man for being so affecting.

"Well, though I risk my head asking it, is there anything I can do for you tonight, lady?"

She frowned at his jest, but forced herself to remember the reason why she was silently "observing" (not spying on, heavens no) him in the first place.

"That song…" she let her voice trail off, acutely aware for just how low and harsh it was. It was as if she was hearing it for the first time – assertive and commanding, but it held no allure. Shrill and sharp – or was it dreary and flat? She did not know – she was never musically inclined. All Ashe knew was that it was in that moment, after listening to the silky vibrato of a most aggravating sky pirate, she did not really like the sound of her voice.

She was only half-aware when he began answering her, and she focused back to attention.

"Do you like it?" She had expected him to say what it was, to tell her of its origins and how he came to learn of it. Not wanting to hear the cold drone of her own voice, she simply nodded her answer in the affirmative. He smiled, small and genuine, before continuing.

"My mother used to sing it to me – when I was a child, you see?" A lullaby? Ashe smiled at that. So unexpected. But she supposed "unexpected" was quite in character with Balthier. _One should always expect the unexpected from the "leading man",_ she mused half-laughing to herself.

"What are you tittering about to yourself there?" Had she really been so unaware as to not even realize that her thoughts were playing out on her face? She mentally chided herself before answering.

"Nothing." She winced at the shrill. He looked at her skeptically, with a fine eyebrow raised, and she relented. "You don't seem to be the kind of man who sings lullabies."

He laughed heartily. "When you're a leading man, you can do whatever you please." He smirked again, and she acquiesced, amused. "Besides," his voice grew lower, softer now, "I love the song."

"It is quite beautiful," she agreed, and he nodded. "In all honestly, I am a bit surprised… I never realized you sang so well."

"I'd hardly call it well, princess," he grinned again, but Ashe persisted.

"No, you truly are gifted. One of the better singers I've listened to, I suppose." He regarded her sheepishly, as if humbled by her response.

"Well thank you. Though I have to say, I doubt it's too difficult to be considered 'good' when one listens to Vaan warble off-key for hours on end." She smiled amusedly at the comment. Slowly, she made her way up to the control panel, and sat in the co-pilot's chair. She hesitated, mind racing, nervous, and anxious.

"Will you sing some more?" He regarded her with surprise, and she expounded. "It's been so long… my mother sang to me as well. But I am afraid I've not listened to any lullabies for quite a while." She expected him to make some comment, some jest about her plea, but he instead nodded in a quiet understanding before continuing his song.

She inwardly laughed at the irony. A sky pirate, singing a lullaby to a fallen princess.

The gods enjoyed toying with her.

**AN: Fun fact – Balthier's English Voice Actor is an accomplished singer… very sexy voice too. On his website, he sings an a'capella version of "My Funny Valentine"… I love that man. Anyway, just pointing out, if Balthier actually sang in the game, it would be pretty damn good – so this fic is totally believable.**

**Oh, and if you want to know the lyrics of the lullaby… well, I don't have any, but I had a song in mind while writing. It's by the Dixie Chicks and it's called (dun dun dun da!) "Lullaby". **


	11. Father and Son part 3

**Disclaimer: Don't own FF12.**

**Father and Son, part 3**

He hasn't said anything for a good few hours, and this makes Ashe worry

He hasn't said anything for a good few hours, and this makes Ashe worry. While the rest of their party is still mourning Reddas, she knows that the blow Balthier's been dealt is far heavier than any other grief the rest of them bear. She cannot even imagine it, murdering her own father. Something tugs painfully at her heart – she feels guilt. If she hadn't gotten him involved, it would have never had come to this. He would have stayed away from Archades, from his father, and none of this would have happened.

Balthier suddenly excuses himself abruptly, rising from his seat at the table in the Whitecap, and makes his way toward the exit. Everyone save Fran watches him go, and Basch and the Princess look at the Viera for any indication of action on her part. When Fran remains still, Basch rises as well (Ashe begins to, but then stops upon seeing her knight's movements) and goes to follow the departed Pirate. Fran manages to catch him before he departs. "He will want to be left alone." Basch looks at her, and the look they exchange puzzles Ashe.

"I'd prefer to go, anyway," Basch finally replies. Fran acquiesces with a nod. Ashe watches him leave, a pang of jealousy brewing deep with her. She wants to go, but she forces herself to be content with Basch going. Sighing, she pulls out gil to pay for their meals and drinks, and decides to retire.

Yet, she finds she cannot sleep that night. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees Rasler, and Cid, and Reddas, and her father and brothers and mother. Exasperated, she gets up and dresses silently, fancying some fresh air. Even though Balfonheim Port smells like fish and alcohol and piracy, it's better than the stifling confines of her room. She walks far enough to see two figures at the end of the pier – Basch and Balthier. The knight sees her first, and with a final glance at the pirate, makes his way towards her. Ashe watches as he puts a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"Give him time." He stalks off then, and Ashe contemplates following. But the impulse is too great, and she goes to Balthier instead.

He notices her presence. "So, round two begins…"

She looks at him wonderingly, and he sighs, exasperated. "I'm perfectly fine, you know. I really wouldn't mind you all leaving me alone." He sounds irritated. Normally, Ashe would come up with some tart reply, but she finds that her throat is constricted. He doesn't fail to notice her unusual silence.

"Nothing to say, Princess?" He sounds bitterly amused.

"…I'm sorry," she croaks.

He stares at her. "What in Ivalice for?"

She struggles to find the right words. "…For…for –" She struggles. He takes a slight step closer to her. She inhales deeply, forcing herself to look him in the eye. "It's because of me that they are dead."

He looks at her hard, and she sees in his eyes that his brain is churning, making sense of what she has said. "No." He takes another step closer. "No, it's not your fault at all." His voice gets lower, softer. "Reddas knew what he was doing – none of us could foresee what he was planning to do."

"But your father –"

"It needed to be done." There is a note of finality in his voice. It makes Ashe angry.

"He needed to be murdered?" She loses her temper for a brief moment, and instantly regrets the words that escape her mouth. She tries to apologize for her rashness, but he cuts her off.

"Don't –" he croaks. "It's alright." He breathes. "Yes. It needed to be done." His voice breaks, and he stares off into the sea. She has no words to say to him. Resigned, she turns around to leave.

"Ashe."

She turns, briefly. He stills looking out at the sea, and he speaks in a near-whisper, but his voice still registers with her clear as day.

"I'll make this right. What Cid has done…I made a promise to you. I'll right his wrongs."

"I know, Balthier," is her reply.


	12. Patience

It's been a year, and all she gets is a cold band of well-worn metal. She is, at first, relieved, and allows herself a smile.

And then she's livid.

She was expecting something more. More than a note (addressed to Vaan, no less), and more than a silver band. She wants flesh, words, eyes, touch, tangible confirmation of the hope she has been cultivating (though progressively withering) for the past year. She needs an encounter; she wants to feel the soft flesh of her palm strike the offending, insufferable cheek, to hear the cuff resound, and _then_ she will feel some semblance of comfort.

Time passes. Summer fades into autumn, and gardens wither; the rose with it. Autumn bleeds into winter, and as the leaves fall, Penelo visits her. She has always enjoyed the youth's vibrant presence.

"Isn't it funny?" The dancer remarks one day as the two of them lounge about, watching the leaves fall. "Everything that goes up eventually has to come down." She gives the Queen a cheeky grin, and Ashe isn't sure if leaves are the topic of conversation anymore.

The words stay with Ashe through winter. Spring arrives, and she comes to the conclusion that all she needs to do is wait. She has practiced patience often enough to partake in its art. She waits, because she knows clouds don't exist forever; eventually, they dissipate, as the rose wilts.

Dalmasca ages. She still hears about him, and his travels; but news of him and his adventures grows less and less with time. She wonders if he's slowing down.

She's in her room one night, looking over propositions of some nature or the other (she rubs her tired eyes, bleary from exertion), and distinctly hears someone come in. And it's the moment she's been waiting for; her palm tingles in anticipation, her heart flutters. She turns, and bites down a cry of disappointment when the tall stature of Fran enters the room.

She gets over her despair, and greets the Viera she hasn't seen in who knows how long, sincerely grateful the older woman is still alive. Before Ashe can even ask, Fran tells her exactly what she needs to hear: "Each chapter in life ultimately reaches its conclusion; and a new one begins to take its place. I have been called back to the ground. Patience, for just a bit longer."

Ashe heeds the sage words, and waits. Seasons pass, blent together, and spring comes again. Things begin to grow; the wet season is approaching.

"_Everything that goes up eventually has to come down."_

"_Patience, for just a bit longer." _

She's lost the once-stolen wedding band; after its return, she never bothered adorning it again.

On a whim, she decides to "lose" her other wedding band, still ornamenting her hand. She makes her way to the terrace of her room, admiring the blue of the sky, not yet pasted with pearly clouds bearing next season's rain. She looks to the sky, and smiles.

Gently prying the other ring off her hand, she tosses it over the balcony, watching it shimmer on its way down, twinkling out of sight.

She looks to the sky, and watches for clouds.

**AN: And that's all folks. I wanted to add more to this...but my heart's just not it in. I've been dabbling in other fandoms, and looking back on this - well, it's a decent start, but I'd like to mature from this, not be tied to it forever. So, anyway, yeah. I'll still be writing for FF12, but just not in this story. Thank you all for reading and enjoying!**


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